Little Man
by LaughingLadybug
Summary: Oliver Fitz is an odd boy. He has lived with his grandparents ever since he was less than a month old. He was always going on about how his mother and father was coming back for him. That is, until he turned five. Little did he know that that same year, he would leave the only home he ever knew and step back into the world of chaos he was born in. FitzSimmons.
1. Chapter 1

Oliver Fitz is an odd boy. For starters, he has lived with his grandparents ever since he was less than a month old. His best friend is his Uncle Patrick, who is twelve years his senior, and he rather read books than play ball with the other boys. Oliver would much rather have a monkey for a pet than a dog, cat, or a frog. Also, for a boy of four, he has a rather impressive (yet still lacking) vocabulary. Though, no one is surprised considering his parentage.

He was sad to listen to, always going on about how his mother and father was coming back for him. How they'd live on a yellow house on a hill, just down the road from his grandparents. His grandmother would always smile and pat his cheek then mumble, "Maybe one day, dear."

Then he turned five, and he gave up all hope.

Little did Oliver know was that his grandmother had been writing his parents his whole life, keeping them updated on his achievements, quips, triumphs and downfalls. His parents would write back when they could. Each time the letters would always say how happy they were to hear about their, "little man," doing so well, how grateful they were that his family had taken him in when they could not raise him themselves, how much they missed them all. But then there came a day that the letter said something completely different.

_Dear, Mum_

_I'm glad to hear that little man is doing better than when you last wrote, Jemma was worried out of her wits when she heard he was ill. Of all the people in the universe that is there to take care of him, I'm glad it's you._

_I know you love Oliver, I can tell when I read each letter, but I guess now is as best a time as any to tell you: you don't have to raise him for us anymore._

_Just last week, Jemma and I received the best of news. Now that all is safe for certain, Oliver can now live with us. _

_I don't think I've been this excited since the day I found out Jemma was pregnant. Ever since we were given the news, we've been preparing for him. Already we've scrounged up a place for the three of us to live and have started packing. Next week, or perhaps the week after, we'll start setting up his room. If I was to guess, we'll be ready for him sometime before Christmas._

_I was thinking that we'd spend the Holidays with you, then when we leave, we take Oliver with us.._

_Please, give me a ring as soon as the reaches you._

_Your loving son,_

_Leo_

She did, and she agreed. The holidays came and went, so did Jemma and Leo along with little Oliver. And if you asked Megan Fitz, she'll tell you she didn't cry as she watched them drive away with Oliver waving goodbye from the back of their Jeep with an absent minded smile.


	2. Chapter 2

_Grown ups are funny, _thought Oliver as his parents looked back at him and smiled at each other for the tenth time. _They do all these silly, silly things and think I don't see. _He then went on to wonder if they thought he was blind and was even half tempted to ask them so, but then decided better of it and turned his attention to outside. He watched the trees zoom by in a blur and then looked up slightly and noticed how the sky never changed. His small brow crinkled in confusion. Weren't trees supposed to stay still too?

"Hey little man," he heard someone say. Out of curiosity he looked up and saw his father looking at him. Oliver stared back and blinked. Why was he looking at him?"You want something to eat?"

Oliver shook his and returned his gaze to the window. His belly growled and he looked down, pressing a finger to his lips. "Shhhh," he whispered to grumbling tummy. He heard his mother laugh and turn and looked up to see the golden arches of McDonald's. His eyes lit up. "Ooooh, are we going ta eat here?"

"Yes, Oliver," said his father with a chuckle.

"Yay," he cheered. Before the car was even stopped he was already trying to unbuckle himself.

"Alright, slow down little man, you'll be out soon enough." Oliver stopped his busy work on his buckled and blinked again. _My name is Oliver, _he thought to himself, almost tearfully, _not little man. Doesn't he know my name? _With a slight pout, Oliver went back to his struggle with his buckle only to have his mother come around the side and unbuckled him herself.

He was then set on the ground, in between the two of them. He waited to see who offered to hold his hand, being as he had never been allowed to walk in parking lots or cross streets without holding a grown up's hand, but neither did. So Oliver nestled himself in between his parents and walked into the building.

He was so close to them, that he could smell them, not that they smelled unpleasant...just different. His mother, standing in place of where his grandmother would, smelt of clean linen air spray and detergent. While his father, standing where grandpa would smelt like motor oil and cherries. Oliver crinkled his nose. He was used to the smells of baked bread and chocolate chip oatmeal cookies and morning dew and soil.

The three of them made their way inside, got their order, ate their food, and then promptly left. The young boy was slightly disappointed that he couldn't stay and play but complied.

And after quite a bit more of driving, climbing onto a funny looking plane full of other funny looking thing, one long plane ride, and more driving: they reached, "home."

Oliver was far too tired to really notice what was going on around him. All he remembered was the overwhelming smell of motor oil and cherries as he was carried into a small house and into a small room. Of all the things he had seen that day, he liked that room the best. It was a green room with a wooden floor. There was bed, much like the one he had back home. On the wall behind his bed there was a big painted tree with painted monkeys painted from it.

As he sleepily looked around the room, he was changed into pajamas and then tucked into bed. A strong hand ruffled his light brown curls. His father then leaned down and kissed his forehead goodnight and whispered, "Sweet dreams, little man," before retreating, just barely leaving a crack in the door.

And when that little boy was certain he was alone, he sniffled and let one little tear fall, then whispered barely loud enough for himself to hear, "I'm Oliver."


	3. Chapter 3

Oliver woke up the next morning, groggy and confused. _Where am I? This isn't my room! Where's Grandma and Grandpa? _Scared, tired, and confused Oliver began to cry.

A pajama clad Leo ran in. He didn't say anything, Fitz just carefully walked over, eased himself down on a bed, and gathered his weeping son into his arms. He ran his finger through his son's soft brown curls so much like his own as he rocked him back and forth. "Hush, leanbh," he cooed, knowing very well his son may not understand a word he was saying, but also knowing he might find some sort of comfort in the cadence of the gaelic language. "Ná caoin , tá gach maith , mo buachaill milis."

As his father spoke, Oliver's tears ceased. He leaned against his father's embrace and listened. He liked the strange words he was speaking, they sounded like what grandma and grandpa would talk in sometimes when they didn't want him to know what they were talking about.

And at his son's urging, Leo continued, "Tá sé go léir ceart go leor , tá tú sábháilte anseo liom agus mam." There was brief silence, all that could be heard was Oliver's sniffles,which eventually died away. Fitz looked down at him and saw big faded blue eyes mirroring his own staring up at him. "How 'bout some breakfast, eh," he asked gently. Oliver nodded eagerly. "Let's go wake mam, yeah?"

Without a word, Oliver lept up and ran to his parents room only to realize he didn't know where that was. Fitz chuckled at the sight of the little boy- _his _little boy- looking wide eyed all around him. "Well come on, this way," he said, pushing open the door. Oliver quietly slipped in and tiptoed in. A little hand reached out, poking the half awake body on the bed. "Why don't you jump on the bed," Fitz called from his position in the doorway.

"'Cause that's no fun," Oliver lied. He actually quite enjoyed jumping on the bed. But...today, he just didn't want to. All he wanted to do, really was curl up in a corner and read his books. He turned back to his mother. "Mummy, time to get up. Wakey, wakey!"

A big yawn then a wide stretch and Jemma was up. "Well, hello," she said, gently lifting Oliver up onto the bed, "you two are up early."

"Nothin' wrong with risin' early," said Fitz as he sat down next to them. Jemma hummed her agreement and suggested that they head off to breakfast, to which Oliver and Fitz readily agreed.

* * *

><p>After breakfast, the family of three got dressed and made their way to The Playground.<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

Oliver jumped as a loud clang ripped through the air. "Oh bloody hell," his father grumbled before stomping off into his lab. The young watched with sad eyes and then looked up at his mother for a clue of what to do next.

"Come along, darling. I have some people I want you to meet," she said in a voice as soft as a purr. He froze. He wasn't very fond of people, he made a special exception for his family. Seeing his worried look, his mother gently took hold of his small hand and promised that it would all be okay. Reluctantly, he nodded and went along with her.

Down a corridor, up a ramp and onto a funny looking plane, his mother led him into a room with a big, glowing table. In the room was two women, and two men. One man with a shiny, almost bald head and a funny smile. The other, tall and skinny, with a voice like his mother's. Then there were the two women. There was one like stone that stared at him a certain way that made him want to run and hide. She had an ever present frown on her face and strangely shaped eyes. And there was another lady who sat on the glowing table. She had long, dark hair and big red lips. She didn't notice him, or seem to care that he or anyone else was in the room.

"Simmons," cheered the first man, "good to see you. I take it your little trip to Glasgow went well?"

"Yes, very," she replied cheerfully before clearing her throat and saying, "Everyone, I would like you to meet my son, Oliver Fitz."

And suddenly all eyes were on him. Everyone started talking at once, and it scared him. Too many loud voices, too many people talking. Stealthily, he slipped his hand out of his mother's, then waited a few moments before sneaking off in search of his father. After a good bit of wondering, he did find his father in his lab, working on some sort of machine. He ran towards him as fast as his little legs could carry him.

Fitz caught him in his arms as he ran forward, "Where did you come from?" Oliver didn't speak, instead he buried his face in the curve of his father's neck. Fitz sighed and carried him out of the lab, only to be stopped by Mack.

"Hey, Fitz! Who's the kid?"

"This-this is my-my boy, Oliver," he stuttered out to the approaching figure.

Mack raised a brow. Fitz had a kid? Who let that happen? "Cute kid," he retorted with a ghost of a grin, not really there but you felt it.

"Uh, thanks," Leo replied awkwardly then said to his small son, "Come on, little man, let's go before your mother has a heart attack."

_My name is Oliver, _the small boy thought with a pout. _Doesn't somebody know my name?_


	5. Chapter 5

He was half asleep in his mother's lap, just listening to everyone talk. Occasionally, he would switch from parent to parent, being welcomed with open arms from either one each time. He snuggled down into his mother's embrace, "Ah, mummy," he sighed contently, in response she stroked his mess of hair. Oliver began to drift in and out of sleep, lost in the land between asleep and awake. And then he heard it.

"I don't really get why you're all so, uh...surprised. Jemma is my, um...um, soul mate after all," his father had said. The little boy, despite his fatigue, listened intently in hopes to decipher its meaning. He had never heard that word before, but it sounded so important, so special, he had to know just what it meant. His eyes were heavy as a yawn escaped his lips. With a great amount of effort on his behalf, Oliver crawled out of his mother's lap and into the arms of his father.

His father wrapped his arms around him and the little boy laid his head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his father's heart beat. After a moment or two, Oliver looked up and saw his father looking down at him, watching him, with a small smile. Oliver looked back, his eyes mirroring the older ones above him, then blinked. "What's a, "he yawned, "a soulmate?"

Fitz was taken by surprise. "That's a very big question, little man," he replied softly as he ran a hand over his son's hair. His son's little blue eyes looked up at him pleadingly.

"But I gots to know, Daddy," he whimpered.

Leo sighed, not quite sure if he knew what it really meant himself. Soulmates were something you felt, and he wasn't quite sure if how one explains such a strong feeling to such a small child. But, he would at least try.

"Well...erm, it's a bit like a best friend, but more," he replied, hoping that would be enough. Oliver tilted his head to the side, confused. Leo continued. " They're the one person that, that-that, that knows you better than anyone else. Someone who, uh, makes you a better person," he said then paused before revising the previous statement. "Well, actually they don't make you a better person... you do that yourself- because they inspire you." He supposed that would be enough to satisfy the five-year-old's curiosity, but he found it hard to stop his thought now. "They're the one person who knew you, and accepted you, and believed in you before anyone else did... or when no one else would. And no matter what happens...you'll always love them. Nothing can ever change that."

Fitz looked down, and saw his son asleep on his chest. He had probably fallen asleep promptly around the second sentence that had fallen out of his mouth. He turned his head slightly towards his wife, and saw her staring back at his wife with slight tears of joy in her brown eyes. Before he could say much else, she gave him a soft, but quick kiss. He smiled. He may have trouble speaking, but he really does know what to say.


	6. Chapter 6 (Will be rewritten later)

He looked up at the woman in front of him. She was very tall and very pretty, like a sunflower. She leaned down and greeted him sweetly, he smiled. She smelt like an apple orchird, but not like apples. She smelt like soil and morning grass. But her voice made his muscles stiffen. Too rummbly, like thunder, only not as loud. She went to speak some more, but he silenced her himself. "Shhhh," he whispered.

She laughed, it wasn't a pretty sound. Oliver squirmed in his father's hold until he was let down. As soon as his feet touched the floor, the little boy took off running.

Fitz turned and gave her an apologetic glance before taking off after his unruly child. He chased Oliver up and down the stairs, throughout the labs and all around the plane. It wasn't until Oliver had cornered himself behind a piece of equipment that Fitz was able to catch him, but he couldn't quite reach the lad.

Oliver, being the clever boy he is, pushed himself as far back as he could, out of his father's reach. He didn't quite like this place. It was dark, and smelled funny. Soon, he was too scared to move any further. "Oliver Fitz, get back here this instance," commanded his father.

"I can't, I'm scared," he cried back.

"Of what? Of Bobbi," his father inquired. He didn't know who or what Bobbi was but he nodded. "Oh, c'mon she won't hurt you, I promise!"

"Am I in trouble," he asked gently.

"You will be if you don't get out of there in the count of five...four...three" before he could finish, Oliver was barreling into his chest. _Well...that was easy, _he thought to himself. "Let's go back to your mum, yeah?" Oliver nodded and the two were off.


	7. Chapter 7 (rewrite, possibly)

Lance had his doubts about Agents Simmons and Fits raising a child, some days they were barely adults themselves. Fitz was a self-conscience stuttering mess, and Simmons was always busy in the field or in the lab. She barely had time to breathe! Something about those two and a little boy in the mix screamed train wreck. As for as he knew everything was going smoothly so far. Curiosity arose in the agent. Was raising a kid that easy, or did Fitz and Simmons have child wrangling skills that no one knew about? There's only one way to find out.

"So, I have to ask," Agent Hunter had said as he walked into the lab where Fitz and Mack had been working. "What's it like?"

"To be brilliant? Well it's something you will never understand," Mack teased. Lance rolled his eyes.

"I'm talking to Leo, thank you very much," said the young man. "What's it like to have a kid?"

Mack sighed. When will they get that question Dr. Fitz was not a good idea? Last time he had so many people talk to him in one day he had mini-meltdown in the car on the way to a rendezvous point. "You know he won't-"

"Well, um," Fitz started. "You worry just about every day months before he or she is born. Worry about the baby, worry about your wife, worry about preparations..."

"Sounds like a bloody nightmare," Lance commented under his breath. Mack had to say he agreed with him, for once.

"Not really," Fitz muttered as he started tinkering with a little metal cube on his table. "It doesn't really matter after they're born. You hear their cry for the first time and hold them in your arms. It's great. Uh, I remember when, um, Oliver was born. Jemma screamed at everyone that dare look at her, damn near broke my hand, and then I heard him cry and all I could do was shake. Then I held him for the first time and my hands stopped, I was determined not to drop him."

"What about now?"

"Well, there's a few bumps in the road, of course. There's things he doesn't want to do, but has to do and there's things he wants to do, but not supposed to do. But that's normal with any child."

"How do you get around that," Agent Hunter inquired.

"You just have to know when to negotiate and when to stand your ground," the Scott answered. "God bless him, though," he said with a laugh while shaking his head. "He's a sweet boy, really, and very smart-very observant little lad."

Wow.

Fitz spoke.

Fitz spoke a whole sentence without stuttering.

Fitz spoke a whole paragraph.

And Lance was somewhat amused, he liked this rambly, proud Fitz better than the awkward, quiet, shy man he had met a few years ago. If Oliver was the key to that, then maybe everything would be okay.


	8. Chapter 8

Oliver knows many words and how to use them.

Smart.

Funny.

Sweet.

Forgotten.

Accident.

Stupid.

Mute.

They were used around him often enough for him to figure them out. What they meant, how they were used. These were thing he had been called quite often in his five years. He knew these words the way he knew the scent of his father after work, or the feel of his mother's hand.

But that mean he didn't like them.

None of those were his name.

And neither is, "Little man."

Every time someone said it, it made him a little bit mad and a little bit sad. Mad that no one would say his name and sad because no one cared to ask what it was in the first place.

So every day, he reminds himself of his name so that he doesn't forget like everyone else.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: My poor story, I don't know what to do with it anymore. **


End file.
